


Wipeout

by jujus_writing_corner



Series: Whumptober 2019 [10]
Category: Real Person Fiction, Youtube RPF
Genre: Accident, Coma, Head Injury, M/M, Skateboarding, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 13:36:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20976767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujus_writing_corner/pseuds/jujus_writing_corner
Summary: MarkBop tries to skate down a handrail, key word being “tries.”Whumptober Day 10: Unconscious





	Wipeout

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I'm the only one who remembers MarkBop, but he's a good boy and I love him dangit so I'm gonna keep writing about him >:o
> 
> Also, I wrote this kinda differently than my first inclination? Idk, I wanted to try something new. It may not actually fit the prompt that great anymore as a result, and I'm sorry about that ;w; I mean, someone's still unconscious, so it counts, that's my story and I'm sticking to it >.<
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a bad idea from the start, but when did that ever stop Bingiplier? And when did that ever stop MarkBop from joining in, too?

“You sure about this, Bing?” Bop asks, staring at the handrail before them both. They’re at the top of a staircase near the skatepark, one that plenty of people have skated down before.

“Of course, dude!” Bing exclaims, “This’ll be sick! We’ve been practicing, haven’t we?”

That’s true, they have. But the rails they practiced on were shorter, and easier to grab with the board. A fall from their practice rail might bruise a knee. But here, to fall is such a long way down. The handrail is long, the staircase is steep. Bop is nervous.

Then again, Bop is nervous very often. Eric Derekson may have taken up the mantle of “house worrywart” since he came to Ego Inc., but the title was Bop’s first, and he’s still a close second in terms of freaking out about everything. So maybe the fact that Bop is nervous about skating down this handrail doesn’t mean much. Besides, Bing is so excited, and Bop loves seeing his boyfriend so happy. He doesn’t want to rain on his parade.

“You first, then,” Bop finally says. Bing grins.

“Challenge accepted,” he replies.

He gives himself a running start, of course, going back a few yards before putting down his board and kicking off. He glides, building momentum, until he reaches the handrail and jumps. The board follows like it’s attached to his feet, landing perfectly across the rail. Bop’s heart catches in his throat as Bing slides down, arms out to keep balance. It’s the same terror and thrill that stops his heart with every trick Bing attempts. But Bing glides all the way down the stairwell and jumps off gracefully, though his stumbles a bit on landing and slides right off his board.

“Oof,” Bing grunts, rubbing his side as he picks himself up off the ground. “Well, I think that was still pretty good. What do you think, babe?”

“It was great!” Bop exclaims, and he means it. “I was real nervous, but you barely even wobbled! That was so cool.” He looks at the handrail with trepidation. “I doubt mine’ll be as good.”

“Aw, you’ll do great, Bop!” Bing encourages. “Maybe you’ll be the one to stick the landing.” He grins sheepishly at his own joke. “Or maybe best two out of three.”

“Maybe just one…” Bop mumbles, too quiet for Bing to hear from the bottom of the stairs. Bing has already moved out of Bop’s way and is looking up at him, waiting.

Well, here goes nothing.

Bop uses the same running start as Bing. This part’s easy; Bop glides as smoothly as Bing did. The jump to the rail isn’t that hard, either; he’s done similar plenty of times before. The balancing, though, taking the railing one long second at a time and not getting psyched out, not looking down…that’s the difficult part. Bop’s landing on the rail isn’t as good as Bing’s was; it’s wobbly, and he does his best to recalibrate, regain balance on the way down, but speed and balance tend not to agree. He’s only made it halfway down the handrail when he loses his balance completely.

His head strikes the edge of a concrete stair. The effect is instant. The sun turns off.

~~~

Coming back is not instant. It’s laborious, long. Bop’s head feels underwater; heavy and indistinct. When he finally manages to crack his eyes open, the room is too bright to make anything out. There’s someone there with him, maybe more than one person, and he’s laying down in a bed. If his head were clearer he’d be able to put it together, but his brain feels like soup. Soup that aches.

“Oh my god, Doc, is he awake!?” someone cries. It sounds dull and faraway. “Is he okay, is anything–”

“Easy,” says someone else, “He’s still hurt, I need to evaluate him. We have to be alone for that.”

“Doc, c’mon, please–”

“Bing, come on,” says a third voice, more patient but just as worried, “We’ll see him later. It’s okay.”

The name “Bing,” even in the state Bop’s in, strikes him as important. But he’s still blinking the room into focus, still trying to recognize the one remaining person.

“Are you there, Bop?” he asks. He strokes Bop’s hair, and Bop sighs at the gentle, comforting touch. “That probably felt better than everything else your head’s been through lately, huh?”

Finally, Bop starts to see clearly through the fuzzy, aching haze.

“Doc?”

“Yep,” Dr. Iplier affirms, giving Bop a gentle smile. “You sure freaked us out earlier. How are you feeling? You shouldn’t be in much pain; you’re on about as much painkiller as I can give you.”

So _that’s_ why Bop feels so detached and indistinct.

“Feel weird” he manages, “Headache.”

“Sounds about right,” Dr. Iplier says, “You managed to give yourself a depressed skull fracture; you’re lucky you didn’t get any brain damage. You’ve got a lot of screws and stitches in your head now, and they’ll be there for a while.” He pauses. “You have an interesting side shave now, too, under all your bandages.”

“How…long’s it been?” Bop asks.

“Five days,” Dr. Iplier answers. He sighs. “I won’t lie, Bop, it was pretty dicey for a while there. You lost a ton of blood and there was a lot of swelling and fluid buildup in your brain. I did some surgery to put your skull back together and ease the pressure on your brain, and you’ve been in a medically induced coma for the past few days to stave off brain damage. The fact that you can talk and have some awareness of yourself and your surroundings is a good sign, but you’ll be in the clinic for a while longer.”

Bop’s head is still swimming, but for a different reason now. It’s hard to believe he’s been out for so long, hard to believe all that damage happened to him. He’s only just now remembering what happened, but he can’t remember how exactly he got hurt. He knows he was skating with Bing, he knows they were gonna finally skate down that handrail, but he can’t remember actually doing it.

He explains as much to Dr. Iplier, answering as many questions as he can about how he feels and what he remembers until his eyes start to close against his will.

“Tired?” Dr. Iplier asks, a smile in his voice. He strokes Bop’s hair again. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep checking in, but press the call button if you need me.”

Bop nods minutely before sinking into deep, painkiller-laced sleep.

~~~

It’s a few more periods of wake and sleep spread throughout one more day before Bop feels well enough that Dr. Iplier decides he can have visitors.

Bop is sitting up in bed when Bing comes in. He’s an android, so he has no bags under his eyes, no bloodshot veins crisscrossing the whites of his eyes, but the fact that Bop can see his eyes at all is unusual. Bing’s sunglasses are tucked into his tank top, and his expression is more gutted and afraid than Bop has ever seen it. But even so, there’s a light to his eyes and his posture is so loose he looks fit to collapse with relief.

“Boppy,” he murmurs as he sits beside Bop in the plastic clinic chair, “How…how are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday,” Bop answers. His head is still swathed in bandages, but he’s not on as many painkillers and his mind is clearer. He’s even gained some memory from immediately before the accident. He offers Bing a smile; he can tell he needs it. Bing’s answering grin is shaky.

“Awesome, that’s–” He cuts himself off, savagely rubbing his eyes as his grin vanishes. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Bing–”

“It was horrible.” Bing’s eyes are already overflowing with tears as he starts to tremble. “You were bleeding all over the place, your head w-wasn’t _shaped_ right, and you wouldn’t w-wake up. I thought you were dead. I thought I got you killed.” He sobs. “And then when Doc did surgery on you and said he had to put you in a medical coma, I th-thought you were _gonna_ die. Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I pressured you into skating the handrail, I never should’ve–” He can’t talk anymore through his sobs, and he helplessly buries his face in his hands.

“Bing, honey,” Bop murmurs, nearly moved to tears himself at Bing’s despair. He puts an arm around Bing, pulls him closer, tugs him until he’s laying on the clinic bed with Bop. Bing sobs into the crook of Bop’s neck as Bop strokes his hair, using one arm to hug Bing against him.

“I’m sorry,” Bing sobs again when he can.

“It wasn’t your fault, honey,” Bop tells him, “You didn’t make me do anything. I would’ve refused to do it if I’d wanted to, just like I’ve done before.” It’s true: Bop may have been nervous, but he wasn’t nervous enough to stop. He knows full well that Bing would never judge him for passing on a trick. He would’ve passed on skating the handrail if he’d known it lead to this, but at the time, he hadn’t wanted to. “How much did Doc chew you out for this one?” Bop asks, trying to bring some humor into the conversation. Bing laughs wetly, wiping his face as his tears start to diminish.

“Not at all, actually,” Bing admits, “I guess he figured I was suffering enough.” He pauses, biting his lip. “Dark let me have it, though. He was _pissed._ Yeah, I know,” he responds to Bop’s confused look, “I guess he can’t, like, subjugate us properly or whatever if we all crack our heads open and die. I think he would’ve yeeted me right into the void for a while if Doc and Ollie hadn’t vouched for me learning my lesson.”

“Is Ollie doing alright?” Bop asks. He remembers the third voice he heard when he first woke up.

“Yeah, maybe a little better than me,” Bing says, “Since he’s got his bros and everything. He’s…really been a godsend this past week. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.” He sits up to look at Bop. “Even with Ollie, I don’t know…” He swallows, near tears again. “I don’t know how I’d live without you.”

At that, Bop can’t _not_ cup Bing’s face in his hands and kiss him, gentle and slow. Bing kisses back just as softly, hugging Bop to his chest like he’s a security teddy bear.

“I’ll be okay,” Bop murmurs after they break apart. “I already feel better than yesterday, and figments heal fast, right?” He smiles, then pauses thoughtfully. “Doc told me I have a side shave now, I guess ‘cause he had to get my hair out of the way for surgery?”

“Yo, that’s sick, dude,” Bing says, “Once you get your bandages off you gotta, like, do something really cool with it! It can be like a thing.”

“Oh man, I don’t know,” Bop laughs, “That might be a bit much for me. But I guess I’ll see how it looks. I haven’t actually seen it yet.”

“Yeah, your bandages cover everything. But I bet it’s cute.” Bing smiles. “You’re always cute.”

Bop laughs as Bing kisses his cheek. He hums when Bing kisses his lips like before, quiet and comforting.

**Author's Note:**

> Me, writing about Bop getting half his hair cut off so he could get intensive brain/skull surgery: He do be looking kinda fresh doe
> 
> Don't kill me, I must meme to live ;w;


End file.
